


Strange Brew

by ghostyouknow



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shop, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Crossdressing, F/M, Interspecies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 07:09:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostyouknow/pseuds/ghostyouknow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for sagetan, who requested a Misha/Gen coffee shop AU, to which I just had to add dragons. Or half-dragons. Otherwise known as the one in which Misha dresses up like a princess to woo his half-dragon barista.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Brew

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sagetan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagetan/gifts).



Gen wiped the counter, sweeping coffee grinds into her palm. Behind her, she heard the hiss of the steam wand and the clank of a shot being pulled. Alona had finals this week and required extra caffeine to get her through her shift, even (or perhaps especially) during the café's mid-morning lull.

“So,” Alona said. “Are you gonna tell me what happened with Misha?”

Gen pretended she hadn't heard the question, even if that was ridiculous, considering Alona's proximity.

A human hand waved itself in front of Gen's face. “Earth to Genevieve. C'mon. He gave you his number. I saw him. What did you do? Did you call him back?”

Gen had not. It wasn't that she found him unattractive or obnoxious or that she was seeing someone else or that just wasn't all that into him or that she was too busy shampooing or any of the other things that might keep a grown woman from calling a grown man, once he'd written his number on a napkin and passed it across the counter, with a smile and a wink that only mostly hid his nerves.

Gen was a dragon. Or a half of one. There were certain things that went along with that, like some minor hoarding tendencies and an affinity for shiny objects. Her human father had worked long and hard on the concept of sharing, with slow-moving success. She'd been through a few parent-teacher conferences regarding classroom arson, before he'd given up and had her home-schooled.

That didn't make Gen completely unfit for society, at least not anymore. She was just … awkward. She wasn't used to conversing with tons of strange humans, aside from a perfunctory 'What can I get you today' and 'What name should I write on your cup?' Her therapist, Dr. Ferris, insisted that Gen was ready to quote-unquote pursue _informal social interaction_ , but Gen figured her loner dragon side won out, when it came to that sort of thing.

Besides, dragons wouldn't have her, because she was puny and small and edible, and humans feared her fire-breathing and sociopathy. There was a reason Gen hadn't met another hybrid. You know, ever. And there was a reason that she kept her hybrid status to herself, even in a cosmopolitan sorta city. And there were _a whole host_ of reasons that she couldn't call Misha back, not least of all that she didn't know all that much about him, except that he was polite and a little funny, and he only ever ordered the drip coffee, and that his eyes were blue, and also he maybe probably liked Gen. He'd given her his number after all.

She'd talked to him as much as she'd ever talked to anyone. Maybe even a little more, since he'd been coming to the café the whole time Gen had worked there. She didn't always appreciate customers trying to draw her into conversation, since she was a captive audience even on her breaks, but Misha had a way of never feeling intrusive. She even found herself looking forward to seeing him. Sometimes. When she let herself.

Still, their dynamic remained cushioned by the fact that he was a customer and she was a barista, and the café was a safe space where things were friendly and shallow and unreal. Gen couldn't afford more than casual friendliness. She couldn't bring humans home, to the apartment that she worked hard to keep free from clutter, since her more dangerous instincts demanded she build a bejeweled nest.

Gen turned and faced Alona.

“Well?” Alona asked. “C'mon. You can't leave me hanging.”

“I didn't call.”

Gen wondered if she needed to make up a reason for that. Something that wasn't, _I'm half-dragon, and that means I kinda want to drag him back to my lair and cover him in baubles and never let him go, and those instincts are not to be indulged, in case I lose control and become a fire-breathing-psycho-stalker-kidnapper, sort of like my mom_.

Dr. Ferris said Gen should maybe try having a relationship, before she made too many assumptions about how she'd behave in one. But Dr. Ferris wasn't a hybrid. She had no idea how certain impulses burned beneath Gen's skin.

Alona frowned. “I thought you liked him? You always get bashful when he's around. It's adorable.”

There was nothing adorable about Gen. “I do like him. It just—it wouldn't work.”

Alona rolled her eyes. “Why? I mean, he's been perfectly fine every time he's been in here, and it's not like he proposed or asked you to have his babies—”

Gen couldn't have babies, because of the hybrid thing. It was probably for the best.

“I don't date customers, okay?” Gen heard the door open. She ignored it. “He probably isn't even a customer, anymore. I mean, who comes back to a coffee shop after they've been rejected by their _barista_?”

The door opened and closed again. Alona's eyebrows popped up, and she looked meaningfully over Gen's shoulder. “ _Well_ … ”

Oh, God. Was Misha standing directly behind her? Cursing her odd mix of genes for allotting her a human nose and hearing, Gen spun on her heel and saw—

Well, at first she saw Jim, a middle-aged regular who clearly wasn't pleased at being ignored by caffeine suppliers. But Misha stood behind him. Oh, God. What did that mean? Had Misha been the second person that came through the door? Did that mean he'd missed the whole thing?

Gen barely heard herself calling out Jim's drink, and then she had to fight the urge to palm his change, because anxiety made her dragon-y, and then Misha stood right in front of her, smiling, like she hadn't made sure to lose his number. She hadn't allowed herself more than the barest glance, in case she memorized it.

“Hi, Gen.” Misha shifted, his smile stretching just a little too wide.

“Um.” Gen tried to summon up one of the many banal exchanges she'd performed, time and time again, until she was as good as any full-human: _How are you? How's the weather? What will you be having today, Mister Person? Have I mentioned that I am in no way inclined to curl up around you and keep you warm with my creepy half-dragon form?_

She nearly choked. She tried again. This was stupid. She shouldn't be panicking over this. Maybe she should take a ten and call Dr. Ferris. Maybe she should hide behind the counter until Misha went away.

Misha's gaze dropped to the counter. His eyes went round and shocked.

Gen looked down and saw claws, where her human hands were supposed to be. She stuck them in her apron pockets, like that would help, and kept her eyes on the register until she felt her claws sink back and become human nails. “Please don't tell,” she whispered, before bolting for the back room.

#

Gen didn't see Misha again for two weeks—long enough that she figured him gone for good. It shouldn't have bothered her. She'd always know the importance of keeping her dragon-self hidden.

She was grateful that Misha hadn't announced her status to the world. Then again, there was a good chance he hadn't realized what had happened or hadn't known what it meant. Dragon-human hybrids were rare and always getting rarer. Full-blooded dragons were pretty rare themselves.

She was cleaning the steamwand when someone thumped her shoulder. Hard.

“Oh my god,” Alona near-squealed. “What the fuck is he doing?”

“Who—?” Gen looked over her shoulder into the café and froze.

Misha stood in the middle of the tables. Wearing a _ballgown_.

No, not just any old ballgown, but a medieval design with long sleeves and stitching down the bodice. It was topped with one of those conical princess hats, complete with streamer. The whole configuration was a bright blue satin.

It looked … ridiculous.

Misha shuffled his way to the counter, stepping just a little on his skirt. “A medium coffee …”

Gen stepped out from behind the counter with speed that was just a little dragonish, grabbed him around the wrist, and dragged him out the back and through the employees-only exit.

Misha seemed more than willing to be dragged, since he just hiked up his skirts and matched her stride. “Are we jumping that quickly to you carrying me off, then?”

Gen released him when they reached the dumpster.

Misha continued talking, “I mean, you're a dragon, and dragons like to carry off princesses, historically-speaking …”

“ _Keep your voice down_.” Gen hugged her arms around her midsection. “I'm—I'm a hybrid, okay? I don't appreciate you doing … whatever this is. The kidnapping thing isn't a joke you should make fun off. Dragons are dangerous! I'm dangerous! Are you trying to expose me? What the fuck, Misha!?”

Misha picked a bit at the sash on his hips, looking more and more miserable the longer Gen talked. “God, no, Gen. This was supposed to be a—a show of support? A romantic gesture?”

Gen stared at him.

“I don't care that you're a dragon. Or a hybrid dragon,” Misha said. “I'd still like to go out with you, provided that Alona wasn't lying about the part where you like me back.”

God, they sounded like they were in junior high. Not that Gen had ever been.

She was going to have to … yell at Alona. Because someone like Gen thinking about killing someone like Alona, even rhetorically, was not a good idea.

Gen shook her head. “You _should_ care. Dragons aren't nice, Misha! We're greedy and possessive and obsessed with shiny things, and we're bad at sharing and compromises and we set things on fire! Does that sound like someone you'd want to, to _date_? Because it shouldn't!”

“I knew about the shiny thing,” Misha said. “Hence the satin.”

Gen's throat burned. She swallowed hard, just in case there was some fire mixed in with the misery.

Misha rolled his eyes. “Gen, I've been coming to this same café for over a year. I've seen how people are before they get their coffee. If you were too dangerous for human society, the whole block would burn to a crisp every other Tuesday.”

“That's _different_.”

“I'd like to get to know you better. If you don't want to pursue anything beyond a customer-customer service relationship, that's fine. I'm not going to pressure you. But I'm pretty sure I can handle this dragon, dragon-hybrid thing.”

Gen's father had thought the same. Hadn't he?

Still, Gen felt herself … yearning. Maybe. A little. She didn't know why she always felt so _comfortable_ around Misha, at least when he wasn't handing out contact information. She'd suspect him of magic, if such a thing existed.

Misha seemed to sense her softening. He smiled. “I like shiny things as well, so we've got that in common. I have trouble throwing things away, which is another. Possessiveness might be a bit much, but I'm perfectly happy to be kidnapped on occasion, as long as we agree on the terms ahead of time. But all of that seems like we're getting ahead of ourselves, doesn't it? We haven't even had a date.”

Misha was an idiot, but he sounded so darn earnest, and he looked so darn _shiny._

Maybe … maybe a date wouldn't be so bad. Just the one. Gen could keep herself in-check long enough for that, couldn't she? And if—if she couldn't, at least not entirely, she'd know to give up on this whole not being a hermit thing.

“You can't indulge me too much. My instincts are not good instincts.” Gen winced at the growl in her voice.

Misha's smile turned into a full-on grin. “Does that mean we're on for a date? Really?”

Gen couldn't help but smile, too. “Okay. But only because that dress flatters your figure so well.”

It worked for her, anyway.

Misha seemed pleased with the compliment. Maybe that's why Gen had always found him easy to be around; he was so utterly without embarrassment, which meant that Gen could be, too. “It's surprisingly comfortable. I don't know why they ever fell out of fashion. Are you busy tonight?”

“I could make some room in my schedule.”

“How's six?”

“Six works.”

They beamed at each other, like morons.

Gen really needed to go back to the café. And possibly breathe into a paper bag, except, for once, her excitement wasn't inciting any transformations or predatory urges—just a happy, fluttery filling in her belly, somewhere near her fire-bladder. Maybe she should call Dr. Ferris, anyway. Just in case.

“Okay,” Misha said. “Well, I should probably … go do the things that I do. Possibly while wearing pants.”

Gen nodded. “Uh, yeah. Me too. But Misha?”

“Yeah.”

“No coffee dates.”

Misha winked, like that was a thing people still did. “I wouldn't dream of it.”

###

 


End file.
